Blind Date
by r4ven3
Summary: Ruth has been in exile for a time, and Harry misses her, until Malcolm arranges a blind date for him. Recipe for disaster, or the best thing to ever happen to him? Multi-chapter, totally AU.
1. Chapter 1

"Absolutely not!" Harry said, sitting back in his chair in an effort to put distance between himself and his drinking companion.

"Just hear me out," said his companion, having expected Harry's response.

"Do you not understand the word `No'?"

"What's the worst thing that can happen? Answer me seriously."

Harry sighed, and took another gulp of his pint. He regretted not having ordered whiskey. At that moment, he needed the warm rush of spirits to settle his nerves, and to prevent him losing his cool. What was the worst thing that could happen?

The worst thing that could happen would be that he might enjoy himself.

The worst thing that could happen would be were he to be able to move on.

The worst thing that could happen would be for him to lose himself in a pair of blue eyes that belonged to someone other than Ruth.

The worst thing that could happen would be that he may forget how much he loves Ruth, the rush of pain he feels each morning he awakes, knowing that he'll not see her today, perhaps ever again. It is that little rush of pain in his chest which reminds him that he is alive, and still capable of loving another.

"I …..." Harry begins, but he can't say any of that to Malcolm.

"So, you'll do it? She's quite lovely. I'm sure you and she will have a lot in common."

"What did you say her name was, again?"

"Marianne Michaels. She's a little younger than you, but you're quite young at heart, Harry."

"If this …... this Marianne is so good, why don't _you_ take her to dinner?"

"Oh, you flatter me, Harry. I know her very well, and I can assure you that she sees me as a friend, and nothing more."

For a brief moment, Harry wondered that if this Marianne is such a good friend of Malcolm's, why was it he'd never heard of her until now?

"And what if she sees me as a friend?"

"Then nothing will be lost. But," Malcolm hesitated as he moved his coaster slightly to the left, "that's not what worries you, is it?"

Bloody Malcolm. Harry was sure the man has the power see through walls, so easily did he see through him. He slowly shook his head.

It was at that moment that Harry had a sudden and unexpected rush of emotion. He missed Ruth terribly, but he'd buried his true feelings deeply by working all the hours he could. He believed that while he was busy, while the responsibilities of his job kept him occupied, then he'd not have time to remember that it had been just over two years since he'd said goodbye to Ruth by the Thames. He hadn't had time to remember how she'd not let him tell her that he loved her. He hadn't made the time to seriously consider the possibility of getting her back on British soil. He hadn't had time to _feel_ …... until now.

Harry dropped his head, hoping that Malcolm would not see the tears which threatened to spring into his eyes. He bit his bottom lip to prevent its trembling. Maybe Malcolm was right. Maybe he needed the distraction of a new woman, one who – apparently – was highly intelligent, and enjoyed nothing more than an edgy discussion.

Harry sighed heavily. He knew that if he refused this offer, there would soon be another …... and another, and another. His friends, and those he worked with, just seemed to want him to be happy.

"I've often thought of trying to track her down," Harry said quietly.

"Ruth?"

Harry looked up at his friend. "Who else is there?"

"Indeed. Why didn't you?"

"I never made the time, and I only have myself to blame for that, Malcolm."

"I'm sure you'll enjoy Marianne's company. It's just dinner, Harry. If you don't hit it off, you have no need to see her again."

"That's true."

There was a large part of Harry that was curious about what kind of woman it was Malcolm believed could be a match for him. Hopefully, she was not too much like Ruth. He wouldn't be able to bear that.

"I have to tell you," Malcolm continued, "that she is unable to come to London, so you'll have to meet her near where she lives."

"So long as it's not Aberdeen."

Malcolm smiled, his eyes glistening with humour. He was relieved that Harry had not dug his heels in and refused outright to co-operate. "No, it's not Aberdeen. It's Rochester. If you like, I'll make the booking for Friday night at Oliver's in Rochester. You may also like to book a room for yourself for the night."

Harry looked shocked. "Jesus, Malcolm, I'm not thinking that far ahead. This Marianne …... she's not a …..."

"A what, Harry?"

"She's not a hooker, is she?"

Malcolm laughed aloud, something he did only rarely. "No, she's not a woman of the night. She's a working woman, but not in that sense. I was thinking that if you enjoy her company, you might have a bottle of wine or two, and staying in Rochester overnight might be prudent."

"So I don't get caught for driving over the limit."

"Of course. What did you think I meant?"

* * *

They'd tried it before, the people at work. Malcolm had a cousin who'd been widowed a while ago, and he'd tried interesting Harry in meeting her for dinner.

"Lucinda. She's a few years younger than you, and is very well read. I think you'd like her."

"My Mum has this friend, Sandy," Jo had begun, " and she's been divorced for a long time. She's lovely, Harry. You and she might hit it off."

Even Adam knew a single woman of about the right age for him. "Fiona and I met her when we were in Greece, and she's now living in London. Who knows? She might be the one you've been waiting for."

That had been around a year after Ruth had left London, and he was as raw then as he'd been the day she'd left.

Now, though, he's still hurt, still lonely, still angry with himself for not at least attempting to clear Ruth's name, but he also knows he needs to move on. What could be the harm in it? He doesn't _have_ to like this woman, but if he does, that might be nice. It's just that he doesn't want to open himself to a new relationship when so much of him still belongs with another.

That's it, really. In a nutshell. He's been afraid to let go of Ruth – his memories of her, the love for her he'd suppressed until it was too late for them both, the hope that one day they will meet again – because to let go of her would be like dying …... and he's not yet ready to die. He knows he has a lot to live for – his career, his children, perhaps grandchildren one day – but no matter how many things he ticks off on his fingers, they still don't bring the scales into balance. They still don't make up for the loss of Ruth from his life …... and he only has himself to blame for that.

* * *

He normally prides himself on being on time, but he's already ten minutes late, and he can't find a place to park. He hasn't booked a room for the night. In his mind, that would be jumping the gun. He can't imagine that he will hit it off with this Marianne, and he will not drink very much, and even were he to be pulled over by a representative of the law, he could flash his MI-5 ID, and put on his James Bond act. He'd done it before. They were an impressionable lot, the police. Deep down, most of them dream of being spies.

His car parked (two blocks away from the restaurant, but in a quiet alleyway), he checks himself in the rear view mirror. He looks as good as possible, given his age, and his receding hair line. He'd received a text message only minutes out from the Medway outskirts, and he'd not yet checked it. He hopes there's an unexpected emergency at work, and then he'd happily turn the car around, and head back to London.

The text message is from Malcolm.

_I booked your table in the name of Wynn-Jones. Long story. Enjoy your night._

Oh, great.

As he walks towards the restaurant, there is a niggling in Harry's mind. This is all a bit cloak and dagger for his liking, and his spook's instinct is nagging him, trying to tell him something. Were he Malcolm, and were Marianne his own friend whom he was arranging to meet a man of his acquaintance, he'd not be doing it this way. There are easier, safer ways … like meeting for coffee first, or in the safe light of day. He'd offer them each other's phone number, just in case they wished to first speak with one another.

On the other hand, Harry thinks he may be getting too old to be playing games like dating a stranger. It's for people who are younger than he, who still have their optimism, and who have hope that there may still be someone out there for them. He has no such optimism. He lost his hope of finding someone who suited him when the tug boat chugged down the Thames, carrying its precious cargo.

"Table for Wynn-Jones," he says abruptly, as the maitre d' greets him inside the restaurant. Harry notices that the room is almost full. His eyes dart around the room, and he can't see a lone woman at a table anywhere.

"This way, sir," the maitre d' replies.

Harry is being led to the back of the room, through an archway, and into what appears to be a private room. _Dear God – what is Malcom doing to us?_ He's already seeing he and Marianne as guinea pigs in some evil experiment being conducted by a man he has come to trust.

Harry is led to a room off a short corridor. Inside the room is a table which, through a large window, overlooks a leafy garden, itself underlit by lights placed on the ground. It takes a moment for Harry to focus on the woman sitting at the table, waiting for him. When their eyes meet, her face shows surprise and shock. The maitre d' is holding out is chair, and all he can do is stand and stare at her.

"Christ almighty," is all he can say.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: I'm upping the rating to M – for language in this chapter, and adult behaviour in future chapters, and a little violence thrown in in later chapters. I forgot to mention this fic is 7 chapters.**_

_**Thanks for the reviews everyone. You lot are way too creative (and more than a little bonkers) - Jane? Jane's sister? (does she even have one?) Malcolm's mother? Read on.  
**_

* * *

Seeing the surprise and confusion on the faces of both diners, the maitre d' discreetly leaves. Harry is still standing beside his chair, staring at his dinner companion. His head is spinning with possible reasons why this is happening, but none of them make any sense at all. She looks wonderful – tanned and healthy, and her hair is shorter, curling up at the ends just above her shoulders, and he likes it that way. There are smile lines at the edge of her eyes, and he likes that also. She looks wiser, more mature, more comfortable in her own skin.

She smiles at him at last. "Hello, Harry," she says. "Perhaps you should sit down."

Harry wants to sit down. He also wants to rush to her side, lift her from her chair, and hold her close to him. He wants to throw a tantrum of epic proportions. He wants to ask her what the fuck is going on.

He had never expected this.

He sits down, still staring at her.

"Was this your idea?" he asks, immediately wishing he could take back his words, spoken with more than a trace of hurt. He breathes in and then slowly lets the air out of his lungs. "So - you're Marianne."

"I am. I was expecting Malcolm to join me."

Harry nods, feeling only very slightly calmer. "And the name? Marianne …... strangely, it suits you."

"It's the name I've been using since I left Cyprus just over a month ago."

"Cyprus?" Harry utters the word like it is a nonsensical mix of sounds.

"Yes. I've spent the last fifteen months in Cyprus."

"I never would have thought of searching for you there," he says. "Did you arrange …. this?" Harry indicates them both with his hand.

"Heavens, no. This is so …..."

"Bloody awkward."

"Yes, it is." She smiles at him, and his heart remembers her smile, and he relaxes a little, despite his stomach being in knots. "I think it's Malcolm's idea of a romantic reunion for us."

"Right. Malcolm, the last of the true romantics."

A waiter enters the room, and takes their food order, closely followed by the wine waiter.

"I can recommend the Chilean Sauvignon Blanc and the Australian Chardonnay," he says. "Either will complement your dinner tonight."

Harry lifts his eyebrows at her, and she indicates with her hand that he should choose.

"We'll begin with the Chilean, thank you."

"Do you realise that Chardonnay is another name for white burgundy?" She speaks to fill in the gaps.

"No, I didn't," Harry replies, not yet ready to delve into their pre-Cotterdam past. Despite that, he is beginning to feel comfortable in her presence, this woman whom he had dreamed of meeting again almost every day since she'd left two years earlier.

She excuses herself to go to the ladies' room, and he is left alone to contemplate the audacity of Malcolm's plan. No wonder Malcolm had pushed it, and Harry can now see why he'd suggested that Harry stay overnight in Rochester. Cunning devil, Malcolm. But there is something niggling at him, something he can't quite reach. When she returns from the ladies, and sits down, it hits him.

"You say you've been back a month, Ruth ….." She nods. "So …... why have you waited this long to see me? Wait …... you haven't made a move to see me. It was Malcolm who arranged tonight, wasn't it?" Harry can feel himself getting angry.

"Harry, I can understand why it is you're upset. I wanted to contact you, but Malcolm suggested I keep out of London for the time being …... for my own safety, and he thought it best that I don't contact you, just in case my presence compromises you."

"I'd rather he'd consulted me about that," Harry says, his feelings of hurt surfacing. "We've lost so much, you and I." He hadn't meant to say that, but it just came out.

"I know we have. Harry," she says, and by her tone, he knows that she is about to say something which is difficult for her. "There's something you should know …... before we continue any further."

"With this dinner, you mean?"

"No ….. with …... us."

_Us? Did she just say `us'? Is there an us? Can there ever be an us …... after all this time?_

"I've lived in Cyprus for the past fifteen months, and for eight months of that time, I've been living with a man – George – and his young son. George is a doctor at the hospital where I worked – doing clerical work – and when he asked me out, I said yes. I moved in with him when the lease was up on my beach house. Looking back now at that decision, I was rather lonely at the time. I missed England, I missed everyone, I missed …..." She looks up at him briefly to see his eyes, pools of dark hazel. She's missed those eyes, but sometimes it is just too painful to look into them. In his eyes she sees his hurt and her own loss. "Around six weeks ago, I told George about my life in England. I told him who I was, and why it was I was on the run. He became very angry and bitter, and accused me of putting his son and he in danger. I can't say I blame him for his reaction. He gave me a week to pack my things and leave. That was when I contacted Malcolm by email."

Harry is taking some time to absorb everything she's told him, but there is only one question he wants to ask. He blurts it out. "Did you love him – this George?"

It is at that moment their meals are delivered, and so Ruth waits until the waiter has gone before answering. The wine had been served a few minutes earlier, and Harry has already quaffed a full glass.

"It's not a simple yes or no, Harry."

"I think it is."

Ruth smiles, and moves her food around on her plate. "You're still so …..."

"Still so what, Ruth?"

"Sure of yourself... so sure of everything."

Harry carefully places his cutlery beside his plate, and leans towards her. "You know very well that I have never been sure of myself with you. Oh, I know how I felt, how I still feel, but you were always so elusive. I can never tell what it is you mean. I never knew what you thought, what you felt ….. about …..." The words, `about me, about us' remain unspoken, perhaps forever.

"You're after the truth?"

"I am."

"George was a comfort, the right man at a time when all I wanted was someone to look after me, somewhere to stay that was safe, and from where I no longer had to run. He was kind, and he welcomed me into his life ….. that is, until I divulged that part of my identity. He was still grieving the loss of his wife, while I was still grieving the loss of …... We comforted one another. If that's love, then I loved him. But I don't think that's what you mean."

"No," Harry breathes, relieved by what she has told him. "No, it's not. You slept with him."

"Of course. I have a body. I have needs, and I needed what he could provide. But …..."

Harry waits, but she doesn't finish her sentence. "I've missed you terribly," he says quietly, as if speaking only to himself. He knows that to declare himself in this way is risky, but he only has tonight. When she doesn't offer an answer or a reply, he looks up. Ruth is watching him from across the table, and her eyes are filled with tears.

"If you only knew," she says, her voice breaking on `knew'.

"I think I already do."

Harry stands up suddenly, and moves around the table to Ruth's side. Her eyes watch him all the way. When he reaches her, she is still looking at him, her eyes just beginning to spill. He leans down to her, and wipes the tears from her cheeks with both thumbs, and then – very slowly – Harry bends towards her, and places his lips on hers. It is a soft and gentle kiss, with no hint of passion, but into it he pours all the love he has for her.

"I love you," he says against her mouth. "There. I've said it at last." He closes the gap between them, and kisses her again. This time he coaxes her mouth open, and the kiss is passionate and full of need. Harry has one hand at the back of her neck, while with the other he reaches inside the top of her dress. When his fingers touch the cup of her bra, he takes a breath, and lifts his mouth from hers. He feels her hand on his chest, outside his shirt, but warming the skin beneath.

"My flat is only a couple of blocks away," she whispers against his lips.

"Are you sure?"

"That it's just around the corner? Of course I am."

Harry pulls away from her, and smiles. He removes his hand from inside her neckline, but his other hand still rests at the back of her neck. He wants this. More than he's ever wanted anything, he wants to take Ruth home, and make love to her until dawn. They have waited two years for this, and he's not prepared to wait any longer.

"Are you sure you want me to come home with you?"

Ruth nods, and turns to gather her bag. "Will it matter that we haven't finished here?" she asks.

"But I think we have finished here, haven't we, Ruth?"


	3. Chapter 3

Grasping his hand in hers, Ruth leads Harry down the same one-way lane he'd parked his car. She is about to turn into a portico when he stops.

"See that car there?" he says, pointing to the Lexus parked in front of the front door to Ruth's building. "That's my car."

"I guess you knew more than you thought you knew," she replies, putting the key in the lock, and turning it. "I'm on the second floor."

Once inside Ruth's flat, Harry takes her in his arms, and pulls her against him. He fights a desire to tear off his own clothes and hers, and to push himself into her as soon as he can, with no concern about where. But he knows he won't do that. This is their first time together, and if Ruth has anticipated this moment even half as much as he has, then she'll be wanting him to wait until they are in the bedroom. Ruth will want foreplay, and lots of it. Harry enjoys foreplay, but at this moment, as he is kissing and sucking and licking her neck, and her body is soft and pliable against him, her hands seeking his skin under his shirt, and he is as hard as he's ever been in his whole life, he desperately wants to plunge himself into her – right now, in the hallway of her flat.

With that thought still reverberating inside his head, he slides one knee between her thighs, and while one hand is moving over her back, his other hand slides up Ruth's inner thigh until he reaches her knickers. He glances his fingertip over the material, her juices having already soaked through them. He then begins sliding his fingers across the material – back and forth, first lightly, and then with more pressure. Then, he slips one finger inside the knickers, and briefly touches her folds. Ruth sighs, and then she lets him know what it is she wants.

Ruth pulls away from him enough to grab his belt and unbuckle it, before she rapidly opens the buttons on his trousers, and then pushes down the zipper. She reaches her hand inside his trousers, and grasps his erection though his trunks. "My God, Harry," she breathes, looking up at him as she squeezes him tightly until he again groans, leaning forward to rest his lips against her brow.

"We'll not make it to the bedroom, will we?" he whispers against her forehead.

"Not if I can help it."

Harry almost passes out as she moves her body close to his, and rests her stomach against his erection.

"Harry …... do you mind if our first time is a desperate fuck in the hallway?"

Does he mind? _Does he mind_? As much as he has harboured fantasies about what their first time might be like, he is just happy that there is about to be a first time. Hell, he'd do it in a cow yard in full view of the cows – and he'd even be happy for the farmer and his wife to watch as well, along with a few curious villagers – were that on offer. He'll do it anywhere, anyhow, so long as it's with Ruth, and that it happens very, very soon.

He can feel Ruth grappling with her dress, reaching around behind her back.

"Here, let me," he says, reaching behind her to lower the zipper which runs from the nape of her neck to her hips. He slides the dress off her shoulders, and she pulls her arms out of the long and elegant sleeves. The dress drops to the floor, and Ruth steps out of it, and then steps out of her shoes.

While she busies herself with disposing of her dress, and then pushing her shoes against the wall, Harry takes off his jacket, and drops it on top of Ruth's dress, creating a puddle of clothes on the hallway floor. Ruth then helps him undo the buttons on his shirt, and then pushes it from his shoulders. His trousers are already around his ankles, so Ruth again closes the space between them, and slides her fingers inside the waistband of his underwear. Harry again kisses her on the mouth, pushing his tongue inside, searching her mouth, her teeth, her tongue, while Ruth's fingers stroke him gently. He doesn't want gently, he wants hard and fast.

Things change suddenly when he feels her hands move around inside his underwear from the front to the back, and then in one quick manoeuvre, Ruth pushes his trunks down to his knees, releasing his erection, so that it bobs back against her stomach. His hands are inside her bra, pinching her nipples, and yet he can feel her pushing her stomach against his penis, grinding against it, and then pulling away. He can't wait any longer. Hard and fast it will be.

Harry bends his knees a little and places his hands under Ruth's bottom. He lifts her until he feels her grasp his penis and push it between her legs, so that he glides against her folds, moist and hot against his skin. He takes one of her legs and wraps it around his waist, and she follows his lead and wraps her other leg around him.

"Guide me in," he says against her ear, and so she does. The touch of her fingers on his most sensitive of skin is exquisite, so much so that he has to think of something distracting, like meeting time on the Grid.

Harry pushes himself into her body, where she is warm, wet and welcoming. As he fully fills her, he sighs heavily. He knows he is close to shedding tears, and when he looks at the face of his loved one, he sees tears on her cheeks. He kisses her tears as he begins moving inside her. As he pushes into her harder and faster, her back reaches the wall, and that gives him some purchase, some stability. Ruth's face nestles in the curve between his shoulder and neck, while he rests his cheek against her ear. He knows he won't be able to hold her up for long, so he begins to thrust deeply, and rapidly.

He can feel his climax building, but he can't slow down. There is no way he can hold back. This is Ruth, and he loves her, and he believes his feelings are returned. As he pushes into her hard just before he ejaculates, he hears her sobbing into his shoulder, and her body tightens around him. They hold on to one another as their bodies pulse together.

Harry is aware of his own heartbeat – dangerously fast – and his breathing – heavy and laboured.

He is then aware of his loved one, as her tears moisten the skin of his shoulder, and her fingers loosen on his back. He thinks she may have scratched him, but he feels no pain.

Somehow, they make it to her bedroom, and she pulls back the duvet, and invites him into her bed. By the time they nestle under the duvet together, they are both naked. Neither can remember where Ruth left her bra, and Harry has no memory of removing his socks and shoes.

Facing one another, their arms loosely around the other, they sleep until just before dawn.

* * *

Harry wakes first, and kisses Ruth awake. They spend a long moment just watching the face of the other before Ruth has to follow the needs of her body.

"I really need to pee," she says.

"Me, too."

"I said it first," says Ruth, as she tumbles out of bed, and grabbing her bathrobe from behind the door, she disappears from the room.

Once he hears the toilet flush, Harry leaves the bedroom naked, and follows the sound of the toilet flushing. As he stands over the toilet urinating, Ruth has stepped into the shower, and while standing under the water, she watches him. She finds everything he does enormously fascinating ….. she always has. Harry, noticing her watching him, fights off embarrassment. He's never allowed any of his previous lovers to watch him pee. It is not, after all, the most dignified of activities.

Harry joins Ruth under the shower, and they each wash the body of the other, their hands slippery from the shower gel. They towel one another dry, and again climb into Ruth's bed together, both smelling of peaches and mango. They lie beside one another while the sun rises, taking in everything they see.

He has to run his finger from her lips, down her chin to her neck, while she is fascinated by the hollow between his neck and his collarbone.

He pulls down the duvet to expose her breasts, at which he gazes in awe, while she draws a line from his neck down to where the light brown down on his belly leads to his pubic hair.

He rests one hand on one of her breasts, his thumb grazing slowly over the nipple, while she explores the dip beneath his hip bone, rubbing her thumb over the sensitive skin, while he again slowly hardens.

This time, when they make love it is a gentle and delicate act. While the previous night they'd popped the cork of the champagne, in the dimness of this autumn morning, they savour the wine within. They lie side-by-side, her leg over his hip bringing them closer. Their body movements are slow and deliberate, and they each watch the face of the other, something the explosive passion of the night before had not allowed. As they come, one after the other, they each smile at the other. It is a moment of triumph for them. As Ruth had left London that cold morning two years earlier, neither could have imagined their reunion would be like this. Neither were confident there would ever be a reunion.

They have been lying together in one another's arms for over half an hour, when Harry begins to pull away a little.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" Ruth says, her voice flat with withheld emotion.

"There's something on at the moment, Ruth, and the only way I could get away last night was by Ros promising to take my place until I return today. I'll probably be on the Grid for the remainder of the weekend."

When Ruth doesn't say anything in reply, this worries him.

"I know that this sounds like an excuse for leaving you -"

"That's not what I'm thinking at all, Harry. I can feel that you'd rather stay here with me."

"Yes, I would. I hadn't expected to stay overnight, although I suspect Malcolm has warned Ros that I may be into work a little late today." Harry looks down at her, a smile on his face, and sees her serious expression. "What's wrong, Ruth? You know how my job is."

"I do, and I'm not blaming you, or anything. I was just thinking …..."

He waits until she has her words all sorted, watching her face as she formulates her thoughts.

"It's just occurred to me," she begins, "and it's something I'd never have expected …... I envy you …. going back to the Grid …... where it's all happening."

If Harry is surprised, then he doesn't show it. "Would you like to rejoin the Brotherhood, Ruth?"

She frowns at him, but her mouth is smiling. "Only if you call it something other than a brotherhood."

Harry dips his head to kiss her. "I'll see what I can do."


	4. Chapter 4

On the drive back to London, Harry is distracted by the events of the previous thirteen hours. In the space of only half a revolution of the earth, everything has completely changed, and nothing in his life will be the same again. Instead of mourning Ruth's loss, he can now enjoy her company as his partner. In the hour or so before he left her, they'd talked about `them', and what they can expect from their changed circumstances.

"Where do we go from here, Harry?" Ruth had whispered against his shoulder.

"Forwards, Ruth. Forwards …... and together."

She'd smiled into his eyes, and he'd thought her face to be the most beautiful vision he'd ever seen, and would ever be likely to see.

"First we have to deal with those who would want to harm us, and then to reclaim your identity."

"Easy, then"

"Not easy, no, but it's necessary. I want us to be able to walk together down any street in the world, without having to be forever hiding in the shadows, expecting the worst."

They'd clung together in the hallway of Ruth's flat, each making promises to call each day, before Harry stepped through the doorway, on to the pavement, and into his car, and began the drive back to London.

He drives straight to the Grid, recognising that he is still wearing last night's clothes, and that he can't do much about that now.

"Good night?" Ros asks him as he steps into his office. Judging by her lifted eyebrow, and slight smirk, Harry concludes that Ros knows something about where he's been, and with whom.

"I can take over now, Ros," he says, removing his jacket, revealling a creased pale blue shirt beneath. He notices Ros' eyes taking in the shirt, and his tieless state. _This is a place of work,_ he thinks, _not a bloody fashion show_.

Malcolm, who has been doing the bulk of the intelligence analysis since Ruth had had to leave the country, slips silently through Harry's office door just after Ros leaves. He smiles at Harry, recognising that he has perhaps travelled from Kent only that morning.

"Yes, I'm wearing the clothes I wore to dinner last night, and before I forget my manners, thank you very much for setting it up, Malcolm."

"A good time was had by all, I take it."

"Yes, it was. A very good time."

"And you didn't guess it was she you were meeting?"

"Not until I saw her." Harry sighs heavily, remembering the moment their eyes had met, and how his emotions had almost got the better of him. "Now, what's been happening since I've been away?"

"It's only been fifteen hours since you were last on the Grid, Harry."

"That's a lifetime in this place."

"And how is she?"

"You've not seen her since she's been back, Malcolm?"

"No, but we've spoken on the phone a couple of times a week since she's been back on British soil."

"She's …..." How can he explain to Malcolm how she is? Amazing, surprising, beguiling, breathtaking? "She's in very good spirits, Malcolm. We had a lovely time."

"You'll be seeing her again, I take it."

Malcolm realises he has just stepped over the invisible line which has always existed between he and Harry, and he turns his head slightly, and gazes at the wall behind Harry's head.

"We plan to, yes. Which brings me to my next request. I know you and the junior analysts are busy, Malcolm, but I need for you to find out which of Mace's followers are still at large, and where they are. Can you do that?"

"To protect Ruth, I'll do whatever it takes. However, Harry," Malcolm says, suddenly animated, as he sits in the chair Harry indicates, across the desk from him, "I have pre-empted your request, and I have four names, and I've been following them for the month Ruth has been back on British soil."

"I should have known you'd be a step ahead of me."

"You understand, Harry, that Mace being in gaol hasn't diminished his influence. He's angry that you escaped his trap, and I suspect he also knows that Ruth didn't drown in the Thames two years ago. My fear is that these four henchmen of Mace's will find out Ruth is back home, and will kidnap her, or worse. Oliver Mace has an exceptionally long memory."

Harry privately contemplates the irony of he and Ruth having dined at Oliver's the previous evening. "Do you have any idea where these four men are, Malcolm, and how it is we can prevent them finding Ruth?"

"I have surveillance on two of them – they are both in North Wales."

"North Wales?"

"They are living in comfort at a property which Mace bought some years ago with his ill-gotten gains from his eastern European connections. I've alerted the North Wales Police to keep an eye on these two. They're ….. geeks …." Malcolm smiles ar his own use of a word which could well describe himself. "They have surveillance equipment which is illegal for them to be using, and so there's a technical team in the police force who checks them daily …... from a distance, of course. The first time they put a foot wrong, they'll be arrested."

"Good. That's good. The other two?"

"The other two have been more elusive, and they worry me."

Harry sits back in his chair, an indication that Malcolm should continue.

"Hartley Poole and Gordon Cawthorne. Poole is ex-army, and Cawthorne was kicked out of the Metropolitan Police for all manner of misdemeanors, too numerous for me to list. I have the police checking the airports and water ports, plus we have a permanent trace set up within immigration at Calais. They each have at least one alias that I know of. The difficulty is that they move often, mostly separately, and sometimes they only move a few streets, to a nearby town, and sometimes they cross borders."

"So the only predictable factors is their unpredictability."

"I have to tell you, Harry, that the best way to flush them out is to use bait."

"Go on."

"I'm thinking that we have to somehow let them know of Ruth's whereabouts, although I'm sure they'll discover that before long." Malcolm notices Harry's expression change from one of interest to one of extreme concern. "Lucas and I have been talking, and we have a plan."

"It had better be a water-tight plan, Malcolm."

"No plan is absolutely water-tight, but this one is better than having Ruth wallowing in Rochester, waiting for the enemy to find her."

"Go ahead, then."

Once Malcolm leaves his office, Harry phones Ruth, just to hear her voice. She is in good spirits, and is happy he has rung her so soon after they'd parted. He wants to share with her what Malcolm has told him, but he doesn't wish to frighten her for no reason, so he tells her that he loves her, misses her already, and can't wait until they can see one another again.

* * *

Natasha Slaughter certainly lives up to her reputation. Lucas and Ros are debriefing her on the expectations they have of her during her secondment to Section D.

"The piercings, and all that other shit will have to go," Lucas says, his eyes moving over her coldly.

"The piercings stay. They're part of me."

"You look like the love child of Johnny Rotten," Ros says scathingly.

"Johnny who?"

"This date of birth we have for you …... 10th August, 1973 …... that is correct, isn't it?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

"That makes you …..."

"It makes me having just turned thirty-five. So?"

"You look and dress like a twenty-year-old. We need you to get rid of all the rubbish - the metal, the studs, and such - and dress your age."

"What if I refuse?"

"We find someone who is prepared to do what they're told. This is a serious operation, and we were told you were a serious operative who will adequately meet our needs."

"More than. What do I have to do?"

"Dress like this woman."

Ros passes a photograph of Ruth Evershed to the woman across from her.

"Fuck me. You want me to look like _that_?"

Ros and Lucas exchange a look, and then it's Ros' turn to get through to the woman.

"Listen. I don't want you to be doing this. I think you're a moron, but your section chief in Six tells me you're a chameleon, and brilliant in the field. Your record tells me you're a former athlete – a sprinter, and ten years ago you almost qualified for the Olympics in long jump – and you have attained a black belt in judo. You teach self-defence to women and children two evenings per week, and you regularly attain top marks in your section in weapons training, and your health – both physical and mental – is excellent. You're the right age, the right height, and your hair is almost exactly the same colour and length as the woman you will be standing in for -"

"Is this operation dangerous?" asks Natasha.

"Extremely," answers Ros.

"So …. I could die, right?"

"Yes, you could."

"Then I'm your girl …... woman, sorry. I'll even dress in that dowdy, sexless shit. On one condition."

"What's that?" Ros replies tiredly.

"That you call me Tash."

And Tash's face breaks into a wide grin.

"Okay, Tash," Ros says, placing emphasis on the other woman's name, "there's one more thing. How are your clerical skills?"

* * *

Tash Slaughter hates clerical work. She hates offices. She hates office workers. She hates being inside when the sun just might be shining outside. However, she likes computers, and is very skilled at using them, so she's been given some data entry on her first day working in the admin office of the University for the Creative Arts at Rochester. It's not really a university. It's just a school for tossers who think that their painting, or their poems or their music is about to be the Next Big Thing. They'll all end up waiting tables, she's sure of that, but that really isn't her problem.

She doesn't even mind the clothes she has to wear. She didn't get to meet Marianne Michaels, but judging by her clothes, she's a wowser, probably goes to Mass every day, and hasn't had sex since the 20th century. More than anything, she feels sorry for the woman, with her long skirts, her scarves – hundreds of them – her knee-length boots – almost impossible to run in – and her mind-numbing job at the `university'.

Oh, and then there's the make-up. No heavy eye-liner or black lipstick. `Just something muted', Ros Myers had said. Her own mother wouldn't recognise her, but she'd be proud of her. Tash can hear her inside her head. `Natasha, darling. You look so healthy, and so vital. Doesn't she, Martin?' `Yes, vital', her dad would reply. Martin always agrees with everything Barbara says, which is why her parents are still together. Tash thinks of her parents as being beige – _very_ beige.

For reasons unknown to Tash, Marianne Michaels is on someone's hit list, and so she – the real Marianne – is living on a boat moored at Gillingham Marina, using some made-up name, while she, Tash, is posing as her, waiting for the guillotine to fall in her direction. It's been four days, and so far, nothing has happened. She hopes the bad guys hurry the fuck up. She's in danger of becoming terminally bored.


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N: I discovered, after I began writing this, that it has a plot ...ish. Enjoy._**

* * *

"I'm sorry about the phone blackout, Harry. I know you're finding it hard, but until we catch these people, we have to protect Ruth in every way we can."

"I understand that, Malcolm. I'm worried about her. You're sure she's safe where she is?"

"There's 24-hour surveillance on her – both inside the boat and outside. All avenues in and out of the marina are covered by CCTV, and we have three of our officers planted in their chairs, keeping their eyes peeled. And we have a number of field officers set up in the building opposite Ruth's flat. There are two at a time on duty. Since there is only one way in and out of Ruth's flat, someone will be watching that door at all times, and Tash will be informed every time someone enters who does not normally come and go from those flats."

"And the men who are after her …... they haven't taken the bait?"

"Only because they appear to be in France. I have my doubts they're still there. If they've changed their identities, we have to go back to the beginning. We've fed some information into their system – the one they're using in North Wales. It's encrypted, but it's an easy enough encryption to crack."

"When did you do that?"

"Yesterday. We had to be sure that Tash would play nice."

"And she has?"

"Yes. She's surprised us all. I saw CCTV footage of her walking along the lane, and then into her building, and I thought it was Ruth. Tash has watched some footage of Ruth at work, and she's studied photographs. She's very skilled at mimicry."

"Ruth won't want her to be hurt, Malcolm."

"I know, which is why we chose Tash. She's not indestructible, but she's very strong and athletic …... I'm told she's fast on her feet."

"I think that they'll try to kidnap her."

"So do I, which is why we needed to use an agent who is quick on their feet."

* * *

Late night TV is crap, and Tash has been banned from using the internet in Ruth's flat ….. just in case her internet traffic can be traced. Tash can manage on five hours sleep a night, which means that she normally goes to bed between 1 and 2am. For the first few nights she was on the operation, she had taken to talking aloud, knowing that her surveillance team could hear everything she said. Without the internet, she'd become bored, but she soon created her own version of social networking by talking aloud, chiefly about her day. Once she got into the swing of it, she prattled aloud about anything which came into her mind – her line manager at work, the students, the teaching staff, the weather in Rochester, how desperately she wants to get out of the flat, and get back to London.

When she hears light tapping on her door at 12:47am, she thinks it's her imagination. When the tapping becomes louder, curiosity wins. She opens the door a crack, and sees Jeffrey, one of the other three neighbours from the second floor. Jeffrey lives alone in 2D, and could be aged anywhere between 30 and 45.

"I heard you talking, and I thought you might want company," Jeffrey says, smiling.

"Sorry, no. I'm practising for a play that the students are writing, and they want someone older to play one of the parts." Tash closes the door, and locks both locks. She's not in a play at the university, but she's sure Jeffrey won't know, one way or the other. To Tash's mind, Jeffrey is strange, but that could be said of most men she knows.

* * *

Tash is awoken by a noise …... like something scraping along the floor. _Surely this building doesn't house mice._ She lies on her back, keeping very still, her senses on high alert.

_Shit! That's not mice._ Since moving into Ruth's/Marianne's flat, she always sleeps fully clothed – tracksuit, woollen socks, and trainers. _You never know when you'll need to move in a hurry_, as her grandfather, Ken Slaughter, used to say.

It's when Tash hears the creaking of floorboards that she slides quickly out of bed, and creeps to the front door of the flat. She stands with her back to the wall, just beside the doorway, when the door is hit from the other side with something very heavy, so heavy that a hole appears where the wood is thinnest, and further slamming of the wood results in the door swinging open, the locks broken. She knows now that her concerns about the efficacy of the locks was justified. Two men race through the doorway, and both run past her. Tash is sure that one of the men is Jeffrey from 2D.

Once the men have run past her and down the hallway in search of the bedroom, she quickly darts through the doorway, and runs to the stairs, saying, "They're here. They're here, and inside the flat. You'd better come now. I'm on my way down the stairs. I'll be the first one on to the street."

Tash runs down the stairs, her feet only hitting every third stair. By the time she reaches the door to the street, she can hear two sets of footfalls behind her, and shouting from the street. She darts out the door – fortuitously not closed – and again backs herself against the wall outside, her eyes on the doorway through which she'd just passed.

Out the corner of her eye, Tash sees two agents – both with pistols – kneeling in the laneway in firing position. _Arseholes! We need at least one of these men alive and talking._ When the first man out the door to the building is shot in the knee, he falls clumsily on the pavement. The next man jumps over the prone form of the first man, and so Tash pushes out her leg to trip this man, who gets up quickly, and runs in the direction away from her. She takes off after him, and quickly catches up, diving to grasp him around his lower legs. He tumbles to the ground, and Tash, still holding his legs, tumbles beside him. She weighs a fraction over 9 stone, and this lump must tip the scales at around 14 stone, and she floors him with ease. It's all about technique. Victories such as these are sweet indeed. Vince Grant, who had been running after her running after him, leans on the man on the ground, and cuffs him. Tash steps aside, happy for Vince to share the glory.

* * *

From inside the rather swish motor yacht (belonging to some friends of Malcolm's) Ruth is sure she sees a darkly dressed figure jump from the walkway down on to the pontoon, and he appears to be heading her way. His head is down, and he wears a dark-coloured knitted hat, so she is unable to see his face or his hair. Ruth has locked all entrances to the boat, but she is afraid, all the same. What about her surveillance? What about the many CCTV cameras which surround the marina? Ruth looks again through the gap in the curtain, and this time she sees nothing at all. It's her imagination playing tricks …... the trickster of folk lore. She steps back into the darkened living area of the boat, and takes a deep breath. If only Harry were with her. Nothing bad could happen to her were he here.

Then she feels it …... the minute dipping to one side, created by someone – someone of substantial body bulk – stepping on to the deck of the boat. Ruth grabs her phone, and rings the number she'd been given – the number of Garry Hall, the member of the surveillance team who would be doing the night shift.

There is no answer, so she tries again, and again the call rings out. It is 1.27am, she is alone on this luxury boat, and a man dressed in black has stepped on to the deck. That is not good, not good at all. Ruth knows what this means, and she is very frightened. She rings Harry's mobile phone. To hell with electronic silence. If these are to be her last moments on earth, she wants to spend them talking to him. She hears four rings before he answers sleepily.

"Harry, it's me. I'm scared," and she tells him about the man on the deck of the boat.

"Stay inside, Ruth. I'll hang up now, and ring someone who can be there in minutes. Alright?"

* * *

Ruth can only wait.

She hears a man's voice calling out to her, and she knows that voice.

"Marianne. Let me in."

Why anyone would expect her to allow them inside this yacht in the middle of the night is beyond Ruth. Unless it were Harry. She'd let him inside in an instant. Or Malcolm. He'd also be welcome. She is hovering in the shadows in the large living area, when the man again calls out.

"It's Fred. Fred Jenner. I need you to let me in."

Fred Jenner from the university. He began working there two weeks after she started. Manfred Jenner. `Call me Fred,' he'd said to the office staff. He's the computer technician Maureen had hired to upgrade the system in the office.

The question she needs to ask herself is why Fred Jenner is creeping around in the middle of the night, and why it is he needs her to let him in. And why hadn't the CCTV cameras picked up his progress through the marina? Something doesn't feel quite right.

There is something else about Fred Jenner. Only ten days ago, he had asked her out, and she'd turned him down – quite kindly, she'd thought – and now he was asking to be allowed inside the boat on which she lived. Why hadn't the CCTV cameras picked him up? _Because he himself lived on a boat moored at the marina._

"Let me in, Marianne. There's something wrong with your boat. You have to let me in."

Ruth again tries the phone number of Garry Hall, but it goes straight to voicemail. Fred Jenner is a computer technician. It would be a simple task for him to render CCTV cameras inoperable at will. Perhaps he's also done something to the mobile phone network, although she was able to talk to Harry.

It's when she hears a crash from above her that Ruth begins to feel genuine terror. And it is when she feels a sharp pain on the back of her head that her legs crumple beneath her.

* * *

Harry has already rung Terrence Dunne, one of the Five officers who'd been assigned to watching Ruth's flat in Rochester. He is working days, so he'd probably be sleeping. Too bad. Welcome to the world of espionage. Terrence's phone rings five times before he answers.

"It's Harry Pearce," and Harry quickly rattles off orders, orders which Dunne has no option other than to follow to the letter.

By the time Terrence Dunne reaches the marina, he has worked out that there is some kind of computer glitch in this end of Gillingham. The traffic lights are all on red, which makes no real difference at this time of night. When he reaches the marina, he jumps out of his car, and tries Garry Hall's number, with no success. He is running along the pontoon when he hears the loud bang from the boat at the end of the pontoon. He leaps on to the boat, and, finding the mode of entry – a window having been popped out of it's frame - jumps down into the cabin of the boat. His eyes are already accustomed to the dark. He momentarily waits, and then he sees her – the woman the boss had told him to rescue and protect, the woman all this kerfuffle is about. The legendary Ruth Evershed.

Other than the fact that her hands are tied, and she has a gag around her mouth, above which her eyes are wide and frightened, she looks like a very ordinary woman. She's nothing at all like Tash Slaughter, whose presence demands that you take notice of her. You could pass Ruth Evershed in the street, and not notice her. Standing over her is a man dressed in black. His sandy hair is ruffled and untidy, as though he'd been wearing a hat, and had taken it off. He has only just noticed Terrence standing there, watching. Stupidly, Fred Jenner has removed his black jeans, and is just about to take off his underpants. Terrence surmises that this man – whoever he is – has a gun (not the one sticking out from his underwear), but that gun is secreted in his jeans.

Recognising that in that moment he has the advantage, Terrence dives down head-first from the cabin to the man looking up at him in surprise. He knocks him backwards, and they fall together on to the floor. The man-in-black (as Terrence calls him inside his head) is a big guy, but Terrence is a good decade younger and fitter, and half a head taller. He rolls him over, and knees him in the kidneys. The older man utters a `whoof' sound. There is spare rope beside the woman, which Terrence grabs, and then quickly ties around the man's wrists, and then his ankles, tying both wrists and ankles together behind his back. He gets off the man, and gives his ribs a light kick, just to see how he'll react. The man again groans.

Terrence quickly moves to the woman's side, and unties the gag from her mouth, the ties around her wrists, and the ropes which tie each of her ankles to the handrails each side of her, ensuring her legs would remain apart. Terrence only then realises that he's saved the woman from being raped. The woman is crying softly, saying `thank you' over and over.

Terrence can't help himself. He has a mother and two sisters, and a girlfriend called Mikaela. He gets up, takes the few steps to the prone man, now trussed like a chicken, and kicks seven shades of shit out of him. After he's sure that he's broken his ribs, he turns him over and sinks his boot into the man's balls. _God, that feels good!_


	6. Chapter 6

When Tash Slaughter returns to London the next morning, she is congratulated by none other than Sir Harry Pearce. Sweet. He is able to inform her that her quick thinking has saved the life of not only a valuable former MI-5 officer, but her work has ensured that the three men working for Mace in Kent have been taken into custody relatively unharmed. The third man in Kent had been dobbed into the police by a neighbour for making too much noise while constructing a panic room – designed specifically to house a hostage – under his garage. The building of this room also breached several local council building by-laws, so he was in trouble with most of the authorities, although the secret services whisked him away, and within weeks, his house in Gillingham had a For Sale sign out the front. The two men in North Wales had already been arrested for attempting to hack into the MI-5 mainframe.

"So, who's this woman who wears the granny clothes?" Tash asks Harry, sharing a coffee with him in his office.

"What woman are you talking about?"

"Marianne …... the one whose place I took."

"That woman. She's …... she's the best intelligence analyst I've ever worked with," Harry replies, keeping a straight face. "Without her work, this country would no doubt have already descended into chaos."

"Good. I'd hate to think that I risked my life for some bit on the side of one of you lot." Tash then puts down her cup, and strides out of Harry's office. She has other fish to fry.

Harry, on the other hand, watches her as she leaves, shocked by her words. _She knows_, he thinks.

* * *

_That evening – Friday:_

Harry turns his car down the narrow lane between overhanging trees. At the end of this lane will be a safe house, one which MI-6 had used regularly, and were happy to turn over to MI-5 for the short term. Harry pulls his car up outside the front door, and steps out, stretching his back muscles, his fingers pressed into his back, while he breathes in the clean air. It is just after 7pm, and the sun has only just set. This is the time of twilight, a phenomena not experienced in a city like London, where it is artificial light which lights the night sky, so much so that the stars are mostly invisible. Here, there is a glow on the horizon where the sun has just set, and the whole sky seems to breathe gentle light. He loves it. All the trees and plants, the rocks and soil seem to give off an energy all of their own …... and he is a man who doesn't believe in using words like energy or aura to describe his environment.

The front door of the house opens, and Ruth stands in the doorway, a smile on her face. He strides to her, and slides his arms around her waist, his eyes on her face, checking that it is alright for him to touch her like that.

"Hold me, Harry," she murmurs into his ear, "just hold me close to you."

And he does. They stand in the doorway in a tight embrace, her head resting on his shoulder, while he rests his cheek against her hair. They each run their hands up and down the back of the other.

"I guess it's time for me to go," a deep male voice announces from behind Ruth. "I don't wish to get in your way."

Harry pulls away from Ruth so that he can shake the hand of the man who saved Ruth from a much, much worse fate than the one she'd already suffered. "Ruth and I thank you, Terrence. Your quick actions saved her from …..." He has no need to finish the sentence. The three of them know what he means.

"I wanted to kill him, you know," Terrence adds quietly. "Had Ruth not been there – so close, watching – I would have killed him. I wanted to. I still do."

Ruth turns from Harry, and hugs Terrence, who has to bend down to embrace her.

"You're so brave, you know that?" Terrence says, as he lifts his head to look at her. "You can be proud of her, Harry. She's one of the best."

"I already know that," Harry says quietly. He and Ruth stand close to one another while Terrence drives away.

"Hungry?" Ruth asks, looking into Harry's eyes.

"Very."

* * *

They are lying together in bed, and apart from them holding hands, their bodies are not touching. Despite them having longed to see the other after Ruth's ordeal, there is a distance between them which has nothing to do with their physical bodies. During dinner, Ruth had wanted to hear all the details of the operation to capture Mace's men. She'd chuckled at Harry's description of Tash Slaughter, and privately hoped that there were still some of her things she could collect from the flat in Rochester.

"I think that there are a couple of policewomen in charge of collecting your stuff," Harry had said, desperately trying to veer the conversation away from the assault on her.

Ruth has been aware of Harry's discomfort, and his desire that she shouldn't have to relive the attack on her, but she really needs to talk to him about it. She was almost raped, and had it not been for Terrence Dunne, she probably would have been.

"Harry," she says into the darkened room, "I need to talk about it. To you. You're the person with whom I most need to share this."

"I know, Ruth. It's just that I'm not sure I want to listen to it."

"I need to tell it, Harry, even if you don't want to hear what I say."

Harry, hearing the need in her voice, squeezes her hand, his indication that he is ready to listen.

They lay side-by-side, with only their hands touching, as Ruth talks about her last night on the boat. She tells Harry how lonely she'd been while she was there, unable to talk to anyone, unable to go to work, even though her job had been monotonous and uninspiring. She lists the books she'd read while she was there, and the book she'd been reading just before she'd noticed the man hurrying along the pontoon towards her.

"It was _Harry Potter and the Order Of The Phoenix_. A student had loaned it to me. I'd never read Harry Potter, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I left it on the boat, so I'm going to have to buy her another copy. The police would have taken it, since it was in my hand when he knocked me out."

Then she tells him, with an absence of emotion, about her ordeal, and the assault which had almost ended with her being sexually assaulted. When she reaches the part where Terrence had untied her, and led her off the boat, and driven her to hospital, Harry lays his head back against his pillow and sighs heavily.

Ruth waits, but he doesn't say anything. She is aware of a strange mix of anger, frustration and fear rising from deep in her gut.

"Harry …... you have to talk to me. I have to know you still love me ….. despite what happened to me." Despite her panic, her voice is quiet.

"Of course I still love you. What makes you think I wouldn't?"

"Apart from when you first arrived, you've barely touched me. I don't know what to think."

Very slowly, realisation dawns for Harry, and he turns on his side to face her, lifting himself on to his elbow. "I've been too afraid to show you any affection …... in case …... you know …... I thought you might be traumatised."

"I imagine I have been, but I need you to want me."

"I ….. I was afraid that my ….. desire for you would re-traumatise you."

"Harry …..." Ruth reaches up to cradle his face in her hand. "Your desire for me is so totally different to what was driving Fred Jenner. I love it that you're sensitive to my ordeal, but the sight of your arousal is not going to traumatise me. I _need_ you to want me." She reaches up to kiss him softly on the lips. "Do you understand?"

"I think so." Harry breathes out his relief.

"I have a bit of a headache from the blow to my head, but other than that, I'm still me. I need you, and I need you tonight."

"I don't want to hurt you," he says quietly, barely more than a whisper.

"You'll hurt me more if you turn the light out, and roll over and go to sleep."

In the end, it is Ruth who makes the first move, pushing her hands under his t-shirt, and lifting it over his head. Harry watches her as she kisses his skin from his throat down to his navel, and when she slides her hand inside his track pants and takes him in her hand, slowly massaging him to full arousal, he can no longer hold back. He pushes his track pants off using his feet, and then rolls on top of her, ready for her immediately …... except that Ruth is still wearing her pyjamas, warm flannelette ones with buttons down the front of the top.

"What made you wear these?" he asks, barely aware that her answer may not be what he wants to hear.

Ruth's silence causes him to pull back, resting his weight on one elbow. "Ruth …... talk to me."

Harry had turned on a small bedside light on his side of the bed, but the light from it barely reaches to the other side of the bed. He gazes at her face in the near-darkness, and sees the sheen of tears in her eyes. She takes a breath before speaking.

"I bought these new today …... on my way here. I made Terrence stop off on the way out of Gillingham."

"Didn't you have any pyjamas?"

"Not ones like these."

"You've lost me, Ruth."

She turns on her side to face him, her eyes still shining with unshed tears. "I was afraid, Harry."

"Of what?"

"That after what happened to me, you'd no longer find me desirable, and that you'd no longer want me. The pyjamas are my insurance."

"Insurance?"

"If you no longer wanted me, then I could explain it by wearing sexless pyjamas."

_Jesus …... she's so complex, this woman. Not want her? What a ridiculous idea._

"Ruth," he says very gently, "the day I no longer want you will be the day I stop breathing, and you'll then have to arrange a funeral for me. I'd been afraid you wouldn't want sex because of your ordeal, and you've been afraid that I wouldn't want you after your ordeal. Could we perhaps coordinate our approaches?"

Harry rolls on to his back, aware that he is no longer sexually aroused. He's more frustrated and angry than anything, but he doesn't want Ruth knowing how much.

"Perhaps we both need to sleep right now," he says quietly, reaching to turn off the bedside light. "Goodnight, Ruth."

"Goodnight."

He considers kissing her goodnight, but he's too upset. It has been a trying day for them both, and their emotions are raw. Sex would have been good – wonderful even – but it's too late now. He reaches for her hand, but she's turned her back away from him. The thing which most bothers him is that he has no idea how to make things right.


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N: I'm having to hurry this along. My list of unpublished stories is building up (5 and a bit at last count). _**

**_Thank you to all who have followed and reviewed this story. This is the final chapter._**

* * *

Harry wakes suddenly, unsure of where he is. It's when he hears the toilet flushing from down the hallway, that he manages to put together the pieces of his personal orientation puzzle. He is in the MI-6 safe house in Kent, and he is here because Ruth has had to go into hiding …... just in case they have not captured the last of Mace's men.

He looks across as Ruth crawls back into bed. It is the dark pink flannelette pyjamas she's wearing which brings back the events of the night before.

"Ruth," he says quietly, and she jumps, putting her hand over her heart as she breathes in deeply.

"Jesus, Harry, you scared me."

"We should talk," he says, and she looks at him warily and nods.

When Ruth sits up against her pillow, watching him, waiting for him to begin, Harry realises that she expects him to do the talking. He has no idea what happened last night, so he is hardly the right one of them to be initiating this conversation. He lifts himself up so that, like Ruth, his back is resting against his pillow. Then he takes a deep breath before he speaks, hoping that what comes out of his mouth is the right thing to be saying, because he is afraid that their whole relationship – their future – depends upon his choice of words.

"Ruth," he begins, "do you remember last Friday night? The night we met for dinner at Oliver's."

"Of course I remember."

"Do you remember how it felt to be able to express our feelings for one another? And then the sex afterwards …... do you remember that?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Because for me, nothing has changed. I still feel the same way. Nothing could ever change that. I have loved you for – oh – more than four years now, and two of those were spent apart from you. Do you not think that my feelings for you, my regard and respect for you has not already been tested? We spent two years living apart from one another, and you lived with another man, and I had several short-term, meaningless affairs while you were gone, and yet still we love one another. Do you not think that the strength of what we are, what we have, can't stand a test like what happened to you in the early hours of Friday morning? Because I have no doubt that my love for you is stronger than that."

Harry has been looking at Ruth while he speaks, and she has found it difficult to maintain eye contact …... not a good sign in his estimation. He feels like he is locked in battle for the survival of their relationship, but he has no idea what it is he's battling. There is _something_ within Ruth which is fighting being with him. As he sees it, she is afraid of being with him - she always has been - and why that is, he has no idea.

"I know it is, Harry," she says at last. "I have no doubt that you will love me for the rest of your life. There are not many women who can say that about their partners."

"So …... what's going on?"

"I'm not used to …..."

Ruth stops, and looks down at her hands, which she has clenched together on top of the duvet. Harry desperately wants to take her hands in his and rub them between his own hands, to reassure her, but he doesn't.

"Not used to what, Ruth?"

When she looks up at him, he again sees the beginnings of tears in her eyes. He longs to hold her, but it's not yet the right time for that.

"I'm not used to being loved like this. When Fred Jenner was tying me up, it was clear he was planning to rape me, and I thought, `Just my luck to have this happen when Harry and I have just begun. He'll not want me after this.'"

Harry can hold off no longer. He reaches over to her side, and draws her to him, only then realising that while Ruth is wearing long, warm pyjamas, he is wearing nothing at all. He and Ruth had removed his sleep wear last night as they'd been preparing to make love. He pulls her close to him, and lies back against his pillow, his arms holding her tightly, like he'll never let her go. He knows that he could talk and talk about this for the rest of the day, and she'd never believe him. He needs a different approach.

"Ruth," he says, his mouth very close to her ear, "how would it be if you imagined that you are a woman who deserves love …... the kind of love which I have for you. How would that feel?"

Harry feels her thinking …... her whole body seems to vibrate with her intense thoughts. "That would be wonderful, Harry."

"So, what about you keep imagining that – that you deserve to be loved whole-heartedly. When we wake up tomorrow morning, make your imagining be like putting on your underwear …... you create it before you begin the day."

Ruth turns to look at him, and to Harry's relief, she looks far more relaxed. "I'm sure it's not that easy. I've been doubting my worth ever since …..."

"Ever since what, Ruth?"

Ruth takes a deep breath, and then speaks softly against his shoulder. "Ever since my father died."

Harry suspected as much, but hadn't been prepared to launch into a discussion about Ruth's father, not unless she initiated it. "I'm not your father, Ruth, and I'm sure he didn't want to leave your life when he did. Like it or not, I'm planning to live to a great age …... with you. My love for you will only end with my death."

They hold one another for a long time, and then Harry feels Ruth struggle to sit up, after which he feels her hands on his chest, and her lips on his. He relaxes into the kiss, and then, after he feels his own body react to the kiss, he allows his hands to wander to Ruth's clothing, as he begins to open the buttons of her pyjama top. They struggle to maintain lip contact while he is taking off her top, and she is pushing her pyjama pants down.

Harry pulls out of the kiss, and suggests that he deal with her pyjama bottoms, while she takes off her top. Of course, he has an ulterior motive. As he slides her pants down, he allows his fingertips to graze the skin of her hips and rounded buttocks, and as he pushes them over her hips, his fingers find the delicate skin of her inside thighs. She feels wonderful. And warm. After he's pushed them to below her knees, she kicks them off, which allows him to shift down the bed to bury his face between her legs.

As he licks and sucks and murmurs against her sensitive skin, he reaches up to touch her breasts with his fingers. This feels so good for him; he hopes she enjoys it just as much. He feels Ruth squirming beneath him, just as he notices her breathing becoming heavier.

"_Now,_ Harry," she says, her voice rasping.

He slides back up the bed, kissing her breasts on his way, and then burying his face in her neck, where he sucks on her skin, drawing it into his mouth.

"How do you know I'm ready?" he asks, lifting his head to look at her.

"You're always ready."

He smiles at her, and then she lays her hands on his cheeks, and places her lips on his, allowing the kiss to deepen and become intimate. Harry enters her while they're still kissing, Ruth having parted her legs, and wrapped them around his waist. He slowly buries himself deeply inside her, and then waits. He wants this to last – no popping of corks, no desperate fuck this time. This is a celebration of _them_ – he and Ruth – and they deserve their love-making to be slow and languid. When his breathing settles, Harry begins moving slowly inside his loved one, and she moves with him. It is as though they are in a rowboat, cast adrift on the sea, moving gently, in sync with the undulating waves. Harry is sure he can hear the slap of water against the hull of the boat, and the distant cries of seagulls, although a part of him also knows he is hearing the slap of his skin against hers, and her small cries from deep in her throat as her passion builds.

They each lose all sense of time and place. They forget they are in an MI-6 safe house in the country. They forget that they have been parted for two years. They forget for a time that it was only a little over 24 hours earlier that Ruth had been assaulted when she'd been in hiding on a boat in the Gillingham marina …... and that her assault had had no connection with her having been in hiding. It was just some random man who'd been turned down by her, and had acted out his anger towards her, as he'd previously done with other women, but had to date managed to escape being caught.

They move together against the pillows in a gentle rocking motion, enjoying their closeness. It is Ruth who first feels the tightness deep within her, signalling her approaching release, and she grasps Harry's shoulders, and pulls him closer to her, as she lifts her buttocks off the mattress in an effort to get closer still to him. Having successfully held off his own completion for some time, Harry senses the change in his lover, and begins to sink himself deeper into her, increasing the speed of his movements.

They collapse together, and Harry rolls on to his side, taking her with him, so that they lie together, facing one another. He is exhausted, but he has just enough energy to exchange a few light kisses.

"Alright?" he asks.

"Mmm, nice," is Ruth's reply.

* * *

_16 days later:_

Harry enters his office after returning to the Grid from an early morning meeting with some members of the JIC. He'd even received an apology from Jonathan March from MI-6, who had sworn that Mace was on the level, and that Harry had been over-reacting. He looks around the Grid to see everyone busily working – everyone except Ruth, who is missing from her desk. It is her first day back at work, and already she's not at her desk. Where can she be? Jo, seeing his frown, indicates with her eyes that Ruth is on the roof. Harry nods, and quickly leaves his office.

He steps through the door and on to the roof, and while he waits for the door to close behind him, he watches the figure hunched over the balustrade, his heart bursting with emotion for her. It is less than a month since Malcolm had sent him on that ridiculous clandestine blind date, and in that time, so much has changed, ultimately for the better.

He then quickly approaches her, and stands beside her. When he looks down at her, he is surprised to see she is crying.

"Sweetheart, what is it?" he says, resting a hand on her cheek so that his thumb brushes away the tears.

Ruth responds by leaning against him, even though it was she who had decided that there should be no demonstrations of affection between them while they are at work. Harry supposes that because the roof balcony is not part of the work place, the normal rules of engagement do not apply to them while they're there. He slides his arms around her, and pulls her against his chest until her sobbing eases.

"What is it?" he says again.

"It's this." Ruth shuffles inside her coat pocket, and removes her passport in the name of Ruth Evershed. "Malcolm gave me my new – old – identity back, and suddenly it overwhelmed me. The past two years on the run. I don't know how I did it, Harry."

"Neither do I," he says quietly, close to her ear.

"I'll be alright. I just needed to let it all out. I've been bottling up my feelings for so long."

"Take as long as you like, Ruth." Harry has dropped his arms from around her, but still stands close to her, leaning into her.

"I've been so keen to get back here to work, to rejoin your bloody Brotherhood, that I'd forgotten that I've been running for two years. And then it hit me that I no longer have to run …... that here – with you, with the others on the Grid – I'm safe. It is here that I belong."

When he doesn't answer her, Ruth looks up at Harry to see him gazing across the London cityscape, a smile on his face. "What?" she says.

His smile widens as he looks down at her. "I was thinking …... about the name – Brotherhood - to which you object so violently -"

"Not violently, exactly …..."

"But you do object to it, don't you?"

"Of course. It's sexist, not to forget that it could also describe Mace and his cronies, the JIC, men's clubs throughout the world, the Taliban, the Nazi party -"

"Steady on, Ruth. It's just a word."

"And words can hurt, Harry. They can also exclude people …... like half the population for a start."

"How about we run a poll on the Grid, and offer a prize to the best name for a collective of Grid personnel?"

"If you like, Harry. I'm just glad to be back here – with the others, with you. It's so good to be back."

Harry again slides his arm around her, and pulls her against his side, and gently places his lips against her temple. "It's good to have to back."


End file.
